Smallville: Personified
by imtheonlyonly
Summary: What if you attended Smallville High School? What if you lived directly after Superman becomes the Man of Tomorrow we all know and love? And what if your best friend happens to be a certain Starling City archer's illegitimate son?
1. Chapter 1

'_Cynthia Gunther is as normal as you can get. She drives to school, eats lunch with her small group of friends, and goes home to do homework: a normal day. She doesn't long for dangerous exploits like most do, but often she does wonder…what would it be like? To be irregular, different, out of the ordinary.'_

I sigh, letting my exhaustion and boredom echo in my breath, and I lean back in my worn-down office chair. The Torch is a mess, probably because I let Kiyoko stay the night homecoming, which I found lame that I still hadn't cleaned it up. I would probably good-cop Peter into doing it for me, since he never had anything better to do with his time.

Looming deadlines have always messed my sleep schedule up, and part of my sanity, as well, so here I was, forging through the late night hours. I wish I was more like Kiyo, because God knows where she is right now, except in her bed. Peter, however, worked at his uncle's farm 24/7 and couldn't afford to stay up late, no matter how much he wanted to stay with me at the Torch.

You see, Smallville High's like an aquarium. There are the groupies who the popular hunters particularly go after, the sharks who can smell girls from a mile away, and the loners who avoid it all as much as possible. This isn't very easy, since, like an aquarium, we are all held in the same glass cage we call 'high school'.

And, goodie for me, I get to write about it every week. As the daughter of a long line of journalists who was born with no interest whatsoever to convey the messages the student body wanted to hear, I was stuck between a high school and a hard place.

"Cynth, what're you doing?" I hear behind me and smiled knowingly. I felt my chair spin around and I laughed as the dizziness set in. Kiyoko "Kiyo" Mori has been my best friend since 7th grade, where she'd just moved from Smallville from Metropolis—this explained the resistance to sleep and the all-nighter gene.

"Eh, nothing much." I reply vaguely and shrug, closing my laptop in the process and earning an infamous raised eyebrow from Kiyo.

"What's that?" Ever the curious one.

"You know, crazy deadlines, Principal Reynolds on my back, the regular."

Kiyo crosses her arms and frowns, chiding with the usual mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Come on, Cynth, I can always tell when you're lying. So what's got your tongue in a twist?"

I run my hands through my short, choppy brown hair and answer with a slight bitter edge in the fear of being teased, "I'm writing about myself. Well, not about myself—the person I want to be. I have to admit, Kiyo, I feel a little jealous of you, since you go on, like, adventures and stuff. Like, all of the time."

Kiyo's eyebrows knit together and she nods understandingly. I can recognize the confusion, the pity, the anger at herself for having not noticed this before, all racing through her head and reflecting in her determined amber eyes.

In a sudden emotional deluge, she rushes forward and squeezes me with whatever superhuman strength she seems to have every time she does this. I would have told her it was okay, but I couldn't breathe. Instead, I pat her softly on the back while she lets loose a flood of random mumbled stuttered apologies, gripping my entire being with her hold and friendship.

"I'm sorry, I should have noticed this before, and maybe I should take you out some night, tonight even — is tonight good? Applebee's? The crappy pool place downtown?"

"No, it's fine, Kiyo." I reassured, realizing that she had finally let me go to speak.

"You're sure?" she wails and gives me a look that beat my kitten at home—weak and pleading. I nod and smile like she is a kindergartener who'd gotten the answer right on a question I'd asked the class.

"Good." She breathes and hugs me one last time, before giving me her adorable dimpled smile.

"Hey, guys, I was wondering…" we hear at the end of the room and turn to see Peter, who has just entered the room, his regular geeky glasses and button-up shirt included. He looks embarrassed at having just walked upon such an expressive meeting between his two best friends, and blushes before turning to leave the room.

"C'mon, Peter. What is it?" Kiyo asks and pats the spot on the top of the newspaper desk next to her. "We were just hanging out. By the way, you wanna join Cynth and me? We're going to crash the proverbial party at O'Hara's."

"I never said I was going to do that." I protest vehemently. Kiyo rolls her eyes but visibly brightens as Peter comes over to sit down by us. He sighs deeply, the stressed-out, life-is-hard-but-I'll-put-on-a-show sigh. And he isn't joking—he doesn't joke about things like that, he just asks if you're okay.

Kiyo and I exchange a meaningful look that shares an entire conversation:

**Me:** _We have to talk to him._

**Kiyo:** _Maybe it's those low-cortical football babies again._

**Me:**_ This somehow seems more serious. Let's ask._

We look at Peter, who quips dryly, "Let me guess, you guys want to do your own Dr. Phil thing. I'm sorry, girls, but you're going to have to find some other poor sucker."

Both of us pout until I ask sweetly (I was always better at the puppy-eyes), "What's the matter, Peter?" Kiyo gives her best innocent look she can manage, which is always hard since she possesses the most mischievous eyes in the world.

Peter looks away with a smile on his face, trying to avoid total subjection, but he fails, and eventually gives up, and we see the grin fade.

"I went to the Talon this morning. Thought I'd get a cappuccino, you know. I was just sitting there when this guy, like, my mom's age, came up to me and just sat down at my table. I didn't know what to say or anything, especially because he just looked so…I don't know; familiar. Like I'd seen him on TV or something."

He paused and shifted his balance on the desk, all the while Kiyo and I listening intently, our eyebrows automatically magnets of worry. He continued, "He handed me this card and told me to call him later in the day, when I was alone. I haven't done it yet—I'm really confused."

I glanced at Kiyo, the same distress that I felt in her gaze, then asked somewhat weakly, "So…did he just, like, _leave_ after that?"

Peter looked equally, if not more disturbed than us as he answered, "Actually, he, um…." He gulped. "Said that he was my father."

Kiyo and I collectively gasp. How could this be happening? It was like a soap opera, but of Smallville proportions—hugely important to us but not many others. Peter? Having a dad? We'd grown up together, with him as a sort of older brother. He'd been just fine with my dad as a father figure, since his own father had _supposedly_ died when he was just two. Not true any longer, I guess.

Eventually Kiyo stutters out, her shock mirroring her actions and tone, "Wait—who is this guy? Did he tell you his name? What about that card?" Her skin is even more pale than usual, and her already huge amber eyes have seemed to have grown exponentially, as I can see clearly since she is leaning forward so much.

"Yeah. He told me his name was Oliver Queen."


	2. Chapter 2

My eyes close at the vague whisper of wind that lingers in my cold, reddened ears. I can feel the stray hairs from my bun brush softly against the skin of my face, their silky soft strands greeting me as I make my resolve to wait for him. Oliver is only ever late to make me think about him; to make me want him more, I think with a wry smile, eyes still closed.

I'm somewhere south of his private loading docks near Coast City's harbor, unspecified by Oliver—not that anything about him is ever specified. I'm given a glance at tedium as I check my watch and notice that it's been almost 45 minutes since Oliver was supposed to meet me, which is a little later than his usual half-hour delay. This earns a slight frown from me. He ought to be more punctual, I thought.

The thump of boots hitting the cold pier concrete startles me and before whirling around to identify the Stiletto copycat, I hear my archer's voice laugh, "Honestly, you'd think I'd just became Green Arrow. It's been, like, what, fifteen years?"

I smirk and turn around to face my Robin Hood. "You're tardy, Mr. Queen. I'll have to mark you absent."

Ollie snickers as he draws me close, his masculine scent and strong arms shattering my earthly defenses. "I'm such a naughty boy, Mrs. Queen," he murmurs, "You'll just have to punish me."

As I lean in for a thrilling kiss, I sense something, felt it in the air around him…the tension, the stress. That and the smell of sausage biscuits, which he only ate when uneasy or easily undone.

I frown and back up an inch or two. "Alright, Ollie. What is it?"

"What…what is what?" he stutters, loosening his tie in his usual nervous manner. I give him a withering look that says it all. It worked—he and I know each other too well. "Okay, okay," He sighs. "I didn't want to tell you until I was completely sure and I had gotten to know him, but…."

"Yes? Out with it!" I poke, thinking it was no more than he'd 'accidentally borrowed' something while on a rescue mission.

Oliver gulps then squeaks, "I have a son."

I just smile and stand there, waiting for the punch line that never comes.

"Not your son. Like, a teen, almost," he elaborates while I just frown in my personal bubble of silent thinking.

Eventually, I ask very slowly, "Does this child have a name? Or has he requested 'anonymity'."

"His name's Peter Andreasson. He lives in Smallville with his adopted mom. And, uh…" He rubs the back of his neck, a sure sign of terror, and mutters under his breath so that I can barely hear him, "his mom was probably Tess."

My shoulders sag, a horribly familiar, monotonous grief setting in and weighing them down. Oliver notices and wraps one arm around me sideways, squeezing reassuringly. "Hey," he says and smiles gently, "remember how we said we wouldn't let the past get to us like before?"

I manage to return a small, barely noticeable smile and reply, "Yeah, I guess that's one goal we could aim for, for once."

Ollie laughs, "There's my girl." He brushes a loose strand of my blonde hair aside and looks deep into my eyes, that wonderful, desirable little spark of life that shines so brightly in his gentle brown eyes.

He could see right into my soul, and mind, as well, because he proposes, "You can meet Peter tomorrow, okay? I may or may not have dropped by the Talon to give him my card and tell him I was his father, so he won't be too freaked out."

I snicker back, "Yeah, because God forbid you not be in any way imposing or 'creepy'."

He shrugs, replying, "Well, if I'm supposed to creep out criminals, who says I can't creep out my own son?"

I pat his chest and break from his hold, sighing, "Well, we'll see how that goes tomorrow."

"Lois, you never said anything about a Justice League dinner!" Clark protests into the phone and continues to pace around the room, anxiousness setting in like the heavy clouds outside the window. I sit across the room, amused as I watch him and sip on a juice box Clark had handed to me when I'd walked in; his attempt at being a good host.

"Well, you said a family dinner, so I got your family—your team! Don't complain like you're Veruca Salt, I'm the…woman of this household, or whatever, so I plan this stuff." I could hear Lois' voice through the other end of the cell, full of fervor, and I nearly choked on my juice laughing.

Clark shot me a glare that I felt edged near heat vision then turned away, subconsciously wandering towards the kitchen. His original anger that never lasted anyway faded and he begged, "Lois, please. I do not want to be stuck between Bruce and Hal again—they are nightmares when they start talking about politics. And Diana…."

He shuddered and I overheard Lois laughing, "Let me guess, was that about Bart?" I froze at the mention of my name and attempted to quietly sneak out of my chair, but I kept forgetting that Clark had super-hearing.

He peered around the corner of the hall to check on me and mouthed as he pointed to the phone, 'Two more minutes.' I rolled my eyes. Clark had gotten me here because he wanted me to introduce him to, like, some modern stuff. This was going to be hard, yet extremely entertaining, so I figured that Clark's facial expressions would be compensation enough.

True to his word, in about two minutes, Clark was off the phone and around the corner, rubbing his hands together and inquiring, "So, where do we start?"

I sniggered and replied, lying back on the couch, "I was wondering the same exact thing."


	3. Chapter 3

Still reeling from the parent bomb, Peter stuck with Kiyo and me the entire next day, avoiding any one who didn't know about his apparent dad. Since Peter was an honest guy and could pretty much fall for anything, Kiyo and I made him promise that we would have to be present when he met his 'father' at the Talon this afternoon.

Not that we were going to be able to protect him from anything he couldn't protect himself from—in fact, he'd probably protect us from whatever Dr. Evil-Toyman-Lex Luthor hybrid came at us. He worked almost every day at his uncle's farm, anyway, and looked pretty good for a nerd-type who wasn't on the football team.

So when the last bell rings, it triggers Peter's weird pacing-running-hands-through-hair nervous reaction, which Kiyo simply stares at in curiosity like she is wondering why boys are such strange creatures. I take Peter by the arm and sigh, "Let's go. Oliver Queen, of all people, must be waiting."

I still can't believe that Peter's dad is the legendary Oliver Queen, aka Green Arrow, who's been around since I was little. I guess that he'd been adventurous with some lady (I presumed it was an accountant) and ended up with my best friend, deciding to dump him at the nearest good home and take off.

No offense to Queen or anything, but I hate 'parents' who did that. Besides, what right does he have to do this to Peter when he is perfectly fine with his own normal life, at such a random time? I'm marking Green Arrow down as a bad parent and one with horrible timing.

All three of us pile into my crappy Ford and I step on the gas, eager to get this over with. Once we get there, Peter is practically quivering with fear, and groans, "Oh, I am so not ready. I should have typed up a speech or something; looked up refusal skills, broken a limb so I—"

"Hey, it's okay, Pete. You really think that this could be this bad? Worst case scenario, he dumps you in the dirt with nothing more than 'Hello, son.' Or start quoting Star Wars. That would suck." Kiyo smiles and 'comforts'.

Peter frowns and replies bitterly as he gets out of the car, "Thanks. I guess."

I shoot a 'knock it off' look at her and follow Peter closely. Some part of me wants to see what Oliver Queen is like in person, and some part of me just wants to sock him in the jaw. See if he's a superhero then. Wait—what? I won't do that. I'll just sic Kiyo on him and get the job done that way.

Peter rubs his temples and walks slower than he was before as we near the entrance, and I feel a lurch in my stomach. What will happen? I can hear him muttering to himself, a tone of dread imposing on his fake smile, "Oh, God, save me now. Please let me die, let me die…."

Poor Peter. We open the door and immediately see a blonde woman, around 35, waving at us with a huge smile on her face. "Who is that?" Kiyo asks in a whisper, leaning in to the both of us since we're the taller ones and she was born a dwarf, or some strange hobbit.

I shake my head, sliding my hands into my pockets inertly and saying, "No idea. She looks familiar, though."

"That would be my wife."

We all turn around, startled, and find none other than Oliver Queen behind us. He smiles widely and sticks out his hand, doe brown eyes twinkling in amusement—eyes identical to Peter's.

Peter gulps and stares uncertainly at his father, not having a clue as what to do, or forgetting how to shake a hand. I take his forearm and pull it forward over to Queen's hand, and grin sheepishly as Peter shakes his hand, confusion still on his face. Peter never was one for words.

Oliver Queen has sandy blonde hair and a dazzlingly white smile, along with a buisness-like stature and handshake that confirms his identity as the Starling City Archer himself. It seems so strange, like talking to a picture on the wall or a television screen; it was a Matrix concept in reality. I have to get that through my head—I am talking to Oliver Queen, aka Green Arrow.

Queen hesitates before sighing, "Look, I apologize for all of this. I didn't want it to be like this, I really didn't." All we can hear are dishes clanking vaguely in the background, quiet chatter feeling so familiar and somehow calming.

Until, of course, Kiyo breaks the silence by interrupting semi-rudely, "So. You come into Peter's life, think you can call him your son, and bring your wife. Why should we trust you with our friend?"

I laugh awkwardly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Queen, Kiyo is, um, you know, a little headstrong. She won't do it again." I shoot her a look which she rolls her eyes at, and I turn to Queen to see him grinning somewhat nostalgically, his eyes far in the past.

"Mr. Queen? Mr. Queen?" He snaps out of it and explains fondly, "Your friend here, she reminds me…quite a bit of Peter here's mother."

Silence sets in until Peter raises his previously sunken head and asks with a slight almost-wail of longing, "What was she like? My mother?"

Queen pauses, his eyes empty pockets of sad moments, full of grief. He attempts another easy-going smile, but fails, so resorts to his sorrowful reminiscence, saying simply, "Mercy. That's what I called her." He sighs and frowns, then continues in downhearted nature, "I met her on an island. And not the kind you'd think. Not a…a vaca thing or whatever, more like a…" He laughs and sticks his hands in his pockets. "It was more like a rescue mission, actually."

Then his laugh fades and he clears his throat, as if the act of pleasure had been a violation of Peter's mother's memory. "Our love, it was strong, but, well, it was fleeting. I wanted it to last, I even found her after a few years—but she was a different woman then. She'd grown up too fast."

The melancholy atmosphere is clearly killing Kiyo, because she pulls a fake, tight-lipped smile and deduces, "Let me guess: she was living with another man, but really she loved you all along, but since she'd thrown away her old self, she decided that if she couldn't have you, she couldn't have anyone. Then, of course, she did the 'unthinkable' by jumping of a bridge or building."

I punch Kiyo's arm and throw up my hands in a 'what were you thinking?' gesture, before seeing Queen smile like it was no big deal. "Nope," he answers resignedly. "She was killed by her own brother—Lex Luthor."

We all took a blow and I whisper, "So….Peter's mom was….?"

"Tess Mercer. Yeah."


End file.
